


The Boneyard

by orphan_account



Series: Pandora-verse [10]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Planet, M/M, Mental Instability, Mental Link, Nudity, Poison, Possessive Behavior, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Set before “For the World is Hollow, and I Have Touched the Sky.” During a rescue mission on a dying world, McCoy contracts xenopolycythemia.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Series: Pandora-verse [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/950733
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	The Boneyard

"Any idea what that means, Bones?" Kirk asked.

McCoy folded his arms as he stared up at the monument. "Jim, after the amount of cultures that we've interacted with, I don't think I'm the best person to answer that question."

Standing before them, and framed against a violet sky, was a black double helix shape. It stood before a darkened city, illuminated by only sparse lighting. It sprawled out in a dark patchwork before him, which made Kirk feel uneasy by the sheer scale. The planet was utterly silent, without a native communication being received by the Enterprise, currently in standard orbit above them with Sulu in the captain's chair.

For all that good that it did them, Kirk thought sardonically to himself. Upon landing, his communicator was completely dead, leaving the ship in radio silence above. The mission was straightforward: rendezvous with Scotty's initial away party and get off-world. If sixteen hours elapsed without communication, Sulu would have to take the ship, and set off for help. Uhura, meanwhile, was rapidly attempting to reach Scotty's communicator after his last transmission. Kirk's last view on the bridge of the ship was of her, biting down on a pen in her mouth, as she tapped rapidly on the keys at her station.

The initial landing party, with whom Chekov and Scotty were assigned, had converged on a small area within one of the sprawling structures. The structure was low to the ground, and rectangular prism shaped, with small, rusted towers sticking out of the top. On the side of it was the image of a bipedal figure, with two antlers, like those of a deer, its hands extended before itself. Wisps of two balls of energy trailed upward from it. Blue-green light poured from the structure. Within the structure was a massive, hangar-shaped area, filled with the darkened shapes of massive batteries and disused machines that considerably dwarfed the initial landing party. Scotty was framed against a terminal, typing vigorously at it. Chekov and an Andorian ensign, Zh'oqilness, vigorously took notes on their PADDs.

Scotty waved them over from where tapped on a control panel. Warning signs flashed dully on the screen above the panel. "Looks as if my burst signal got through," he commented quietly, turning about to look at the three.

Kirk nodded. "I don't suppose you can get out another, Scotty?"

He shook his head. "I can't get another message loose to the Enterprise. If we are unable to contact the ship, we're marooned here." He tapped a few keys on the panel, bringing up a three-dimensional gridded map of the city. He focused the image on a tall structure that stretched above the others. Its carvings, while the others were utilitarian, were ornate, with stone and metal work creating interlocking vines and antlers. "The interference seems to be coming from that building, there," Scotty commented, "shutting that down will allow the interference to cease. According to the city's blueprints, this where the ruling body resides."

"We have our heading," Kirk commented, "Let's be off."

"Sir!" Chekov moved quickly over to him, presenting two blue stones in his hands. "There is one missing. Without it, the door to the structure will not open. The third seems to be in a library near the building." He turned to Scotty, who pointed out the library, a domed structure, on the grid for emphasis. "We managed to find two out of three of them in the area."

Zh'oqilness held out her PADD to present their findings. The other two buildings that they had managed to discover were a port, filled with the rusted husks of several ground vehicles, time eroding them into malformed pieces of metal. Scotty's notes indicated that they were built for climbing over sloping terrain. The stone was found inside the rotted hand of a crane operator. The other building was an auditorium, its dilapidated curtains pooled on the floor. The stone for that building was found inside a large, corroded brass structure, its extended piping having several recesses toward the ceiling, while its keys were stuck.

Kirk nodded and took them from Chekov as he turned back to Spock and Bones. "Well then, I suppose it's time for some reading."

XXXXXX

The city streets were deserted and littered with the husks of streamlined ground vehicles. Statues to humanoid, sexless creatures with massive horned crowns on their heads and no clothing dotted the area, along with petrified skeletons lying in the streets, and in the remains of buildings. McCoy knelt to run his medical scanner over one of them. "The decomposition has been occurring for 100 years. What's keeping the lights on?" He commented quietly.

The towering building drew more closely to them in the gloom. In a courtyard just off from it stood a domed building, with a pair of hands holding open a book. The towering building itself had two heavy doors that displayed three seals, all of which were empty, with three circular hollows. A pair of hands, crossed at the wrists with the fists clenched, was carved over them.

Kirk experimentally placed the stones. Finding they fit, he backed up, and nodded at them. "What do you think would keep a mechanism alive like this, Mr. Spock?"

"Typically, Captain, it would be a subset of individuals that would need to maintenance the task, a crew of sorts. Regardless, the life sign readings on this planet are distorted. It is unknown how many survivors exist." And at that, Spock felt uncharacteristic concern wash over him. He glanced at McCoy, who met him with a similar surprised expression, having felt it, too, through their bond. Spock's psychic perception of the world, and of his mate, felt as if it had been smothered.

McCoy put a hand to his head, winced, and shook it. "Bones?" Kirk asked, turning to look at him, "You okay?"

With a sigh, McCoy lowered his hand, and Spock explained, "There is a different dampening field that is also prevalent on this planet – it is affecting my extra sensory perception, in that it is being covered. The doctor, being linked to me, is suffering a lesser issue."

Kirk shook his head. Scotty, Chekov, and the ensign with them ranked low on extra sensory perception, therefore the second dampening field would not have been found previously, and without proper communication with the Enterprise, the matter did not bode well. Kirk quickly led the way to the other structure, and pushed experimentally against the doors, which gave with a loud screech and scrape across chipped tiled floor.

The far wall was covered in amalgamations of figures, all bearing horns, and enwrapped in one another. Limbs interlocked and intertwined, though not in a sexual connotation, rather it felt as if each limb was a connection, growing into another person, in an endless cycle of death and rebirth. The figures were faceless, which was odd, though their heads were thrown back in divine ecstasy. The library's shelves stood vacant, and hollow. McCoy put his hand on one of them. "Seems like no one's been here for a long time." Broken spines from discarded books lay on the floor, the papers completely distorted beyond recognition. Longer, gray shelves were built into recesses on the wall, with scattered papers and writing utensils lying on them.

Kirk moved past Spock, who was inspecting the mural, toward a platform set in the floor. It was sapphire, and broken up with lines of gold, marking off different locations, and interlocking in a framework. He knelt upon it and touched his hand against it experimentally before pulling his tricorder for a closer inspection.

A high-pitched whine sounded, and Kirk jumped up in surprise. He was about to dart from the circle when he noticed his hand beginning to disintegrate, along with his leg.

Spock glanced over, and froze, utterly dismayed at his lack of ability to notice the transporter. He ran for Kirk, but it was too late.

"Jim!" McCoy cried out, darting forward. Kirk's fingers vanished a few inches from his, leaving him grasping at air. He cried out in frustration, his hand clenching into a fist, and swinging it impotently through the air.

"Doctor, that will not resolve anything," Spock commented.

McCoy turned on his heel, his anger brimming. Spock, however, stood with his arms behind his back. He raised an eyebrow at him. McCoy wanted to seize his shoulders and shake him, however what stayed him was his own surprise at his reaction. Spock had his own feelings of loyalty for Kirk, something that ran deep inside of him, McCoy knew from their years together. How could he forget that profound feeling of his mate?

McCoy lowered his arms. "All right."

Spock stood before the platform and scanned with his tricorder. The platform no longer brimmed blue, and he scanned over the directing panel accordingly. "We cannot use it again," Spock commented, "However, I can determine that its destination was meant for the main building, directly where we were headed."

"Do you think someone was trying to save us the trouble?" McCoy asked, "All three of us could have easily climbed onto that."

"Regardless of motive," Spock replied, "the fact remains that we will not be able to lift the interference until we journey there."

McCoy shook his head. "But we're still missing a key." He moved toward the wall, slowly running his hand along the figures. "There seems not to be an ending to them," he commented, "and no beginning, either."

Spock glanced over at him. "There would be a reason as to why this structure is here, given the location of the platform. Back away, please."

McCoy held up his arms in acquiescence and moved aside. Spock folded his arms in thought, and strode forward slowly, touching each figure, carefully moving outward in sequence. "There is not an ending, but there is a beginning," he commented.

A panel in the wall gave and slid outward. Reaching into it, he pulled out a blue stone, and held it up to McCoy to show it. "Our key."

XXXXXX

Kirk felt he could understand Bones's aversion to the transporter, given how jarring it was to find himself standing in a small chamber, far away from his comrades. Violet light poured into the room from a large side window, which overlooked the quiet city.

Kirk stared about the circular room, taking in his surroundings. Several shelves sat along the sides of the room, in the imitation of benches. On the floor were markings in faded blues and purples, while above him were tattered black curtains. Statues of twisting creatures, intertwined with horns in strange dances, or playing instruments, filled recesses of the room.

In the middle sat a lone figure. The figure was completely nude, and emaciated, the skin a pale shade of pink. On the neck of the figure was a gold necklace, inscribed with numerous runes. Framing the figure's head were several antlers, much larger than Kirk had seen previously, and intricate, forming a sort of web. The figure was androgynous, slight in build, and had a hollowed-out hole where a face would normally have been. Pink flesh pulsed over the hole, and a brow was framed above by the horns.

"Captain James Tiberius Kirk," the figure greeted in a quiet tone of voice, as if used to speaking often, "Welcome." The voice reverberated about the room, and the figure's fingers tapped on the arms of the great chair upon which they sat.

Kirk, surprised by his identity being known, nonetheless gave a respectful nod. "Greetings. Could I ask your name, as well?"

"Yes," the figure withdrew their hands to fold in their lap, "I am Xavia. You may refer to me as Queen, if you so prefer."

Kirk nodded, understanding her preferred gender. "Forgive the intrusion, but I must ask you, where are my shipmates?"

Xavia reached to the side arm of the throne, and a screen lit up at her touch. "They are alive and seem to be searching for you. I would have unlocked the doors to my building, but it seems that your second has already solved the puzzle. There is little need."

"Will they have a safe journey?" Kirk asked.

"There are under thirty natives alive here other than myself," she replied simply, "Of the living who remain, they keep to themselves, and only awaken to scrounge and keep the machinery running. If there is anything that they will encounter here, then that is due to the crumbling infrastructure. We refer to our race as Trova."

"Doesn't that bother you?" He asked, genuinely concerned, "Your palace is crumbling under your feet."

"It does not," she replied, lifting a hand, "Please, sit down. We will talk."

Kirk took one of the shelves and relaxed onto the stone. "My people are not like yours," she explained, "We are able to see many universes at once. Some are universes where we are given vast wealth, and in others, like this one, we are not so lucky. In this one, after a plague, only one percent of our species remains. For those of us that do, the main hobby is to view the visions of better universes. Pity, really."

Kirk absent-mindedly cracked his knuckles. "Weren't you able to see that sort of thing coming?"

"I was focused upon preventing a different plague that murdered three-fourths of the population in a different timeline. However, I wasn't aware of another plague that would be appearing next – I may only view, at will, an aspect of the future. If I miss a critical point, it can only be revisited as a vision of the past. That was so my selves in the alternate universes would know how to prevent that plague. You may laugh – it is funny, in a cosmic sense."

"What'll happen to you, then, Your Highness?" Kirk asked.

She shrugged. "I will die, in my own stead. There isn't much interesting in this world for me. The linear species have developed at too rapid a rate for a non-linear species of mine to successfully assume the reigns, and guide accordingly. Your XO seems to have otherworldly abilities, as I do. Forgive me, but their effectiveness is limited, here."

"And why is that?" Kirk asked with a tinge of annoyance.

"The linear species, our enemies," she held up a hand for emphasis, "While we non-linear species are able to detect the future, we are, as you would imagine, distracted by it. The boorish linear races, such as your own, have no such distraction, and give into their primal instincts of being destructive." Kirk felt offended at Xavia's wording and hoped not to stay in her stead along. He had little doubt what "assuming the reigns" meant for Xavia's people in relation to his own.

"I wish to live, unmolested, in my home, as do those who remain in the shadows," Xavia continued, "If you would allow us that wish, then I will not do you or your party harm."

"Holding us hostage?" Kirk inquired, his tone rising with suspicion, "I can't contact my ship from here."

"You are held hostage," Xavia confirmed, "I am testing you, you who have barged onto my home planet, to see whether you are destructive as I think, or whether you will impress me. Once your seconds arrive, you may leave."

Kirk felt compelled to argue with her. It wasn't a test, rather an amusing game to her, as Xavia could see into the future. However, there was no choice. "Fine." He relaxed himself on the bench for the long wait.

XXXXXX

At Spock's hand, the three blue circles lit up, interlocked, and pulled open the doors. Spock turned back to McCoy, who nodded, and followed alongside him. The hallway was sparsely lit by bare bulbs, stretching along before moving off to the side.

Spock led the way, though his movements were tentative, and stiff, as he looked about carefully.

"You feel blind, don't you, Spock?" McCoy asked, "Or at least, you do on some level."

"The field is altered, but I am capable of adaptation," Spock replied, his wording short.

The sideways hallway stretched into an area overgrown with trailing vegetation.

Reaching up, Spock slowly brushed away hanging vines. "It appears to have been a nursery, a rather large one, at that."

"A food store for the ruler, then," McCoy commented, running his tricorder over a tree that had overgrown, its branches splitting up into the light fixtures. Golden apples dotted it, one of which McCoy took down as a sample. "Looks appetizing, doesn't it?"

"To use an analog from your culture, doctor, I would recommend against consuming them, lest we have to battle a giant," Spock commented.

McCoy let go of the apple. "Fair enough. Shall we continue, then, Mr. Spock?"

Spock gestured toward a hallway, and the two continued down it. A rusted metal cart was abandoned on the side of it, its drawers open, and holding bottles of chemicals, shears, and knives. "There is likely a service elevator to the kitchen. From there, I could rig it to move higher up the shaft."

"Good, we'll find Jim, and get out of here," McCoy commented. He was looking forward to the end of this, as the silenced bond between Spock and himself was tiring him. He was used to not being able to understand someone else, but the feeling of being completely cut off, as if something was covering his perception, was wearing on him.

The hallway's darkness was broken in parts by blues and greens, the lights illuminating displays of overgrown alien plants. The walls were broken and cracked, leaving pipes and pieces of steel hanging loose. McCoy reached up his hands to rub at his eyes, Spock's swaying figure in front and to the right of him growing distance from him, moving toward a green glow.

McCoy lowered his hands, shaking out his head. Spock turned his head to look at him, and McCoy waved a hand, trotting on ahead. The sooner that this mission was over, the better. "Doctor!" Spock called after him.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" McCoy grouched, running on ahead. He heard Spock moving after him, and quickened his strides, not wanting him to catch up to him, in his disorientation. He felt angered that this weight was pressing upon his mind, and in anguish, began to blame Spock for it.

His arm scraped along the side wall, and a jutting piece of metal, coated in a dark-colored chemical, cut into him. McCoy's breath caught in pain as something seeped onto the open wound.

McCoy's hand fell to his arm immediately. Clutching the wound, he groaned in pain, and stumbled forward. The floor beneath him creaked and moaned ominously, with him crying out in surprise as the masonry gave out. He spun in midair, grasping behind him as chunks of the floor fell past him. His hand hit the ledge, only to smack off it as he fell into a pool of water.

McCoy gasped, accidentally inhaling water. His eyes burned from it, and he immediately shut them, shooting upward.

McCoy surfaced quickly, gasping and flailing about. He coughed, and spluttered, his vision blasted by the sickly green lights overheard. Something grasped onto his leg and yanked him back under. He barely managed to spit out Spock's name before vanishing beneath.

He spun about in the water, his eyes burning from the grit around him. He flailed in the murky water, quickly losing breath. The imagery below, of thick tubing, chains, and what appeared to be coniferous vegetation, disturbed him. Blood from his wound trailed into the water. He reached for his phaser at his belt and grunted as he tried to work it loose. His hand shook as he attempted to aim, and he feared that he would end up disintegrating his leg by mistake.

Something grasped him and bore him up. McCoy swung his head about, his hand snagging fabric. Spock swung about past him in the water, his phaser out, and shot below McCoy's leg. With a deep groan, the thing fell to crash to the submerged floor far below.

Freed, the doctor kicked to the surface, breaching it and taking in a deep breath of air. McCoy's breath caught, and he coughed out water, spluttering for a moment before treading water to the surface. Grasping onto the ledge, he tugged himself over to fall on his hands and knees, catching his breath. Turning about, he watched Spock swim toward him before grasping the ledge, as well, to pull himself out, and sit beside him.

McCoy coughed, wiping at his eyes with an arm. "Thanks," he grunted, turning to look at Spock.

Spock's hair was slicked back from the water, his breathing careful as he slowly controlled himself. He was turned sideways to face McCoy as he commented, "I would recommend the usage of caution in the future, Leonard." His eyes fell to McCoy's arm.

McCoy felt embarrassed, and followed his gaze toward his arm, which was covered in the soupy water and blood. He moved to reach for his dermal regenerator, and stitch up his arm, when Spock grasped his wounded arm gently to hold aloft. McCoy felt Spock's shoulder bump up against his and relaxed at the contact.

Spock paused, allowing for Leonard to lean on him, and regather his energy. A lecture would accomplish nothing, as the moment had already passed. Reaching for his phaser, he aimed It at a piece of metal, and fired, an orange glow filling the small area. Leonard gratefully inched toward it, crossing his arms to shiver against the cold. "Thanks, I owe you one."

Spock stood, and moved to stare down into the pool. Turning on his heel, he saw a pipe, which appeared to have broken through the wall, and was slowly draining the liquid into the area. Reaching for his tricorder, he held it over the pool's edge. "Doctor, I recommend a return to the ship," he commented.

"Not going to happen," McCoy replied sharply, self-consciously covering his bare arm with a hand, "Jim's still on the surface, and we can't reach it anyway. Besides, I'm fine – it was just a flesh wound."

"A flesh wound from an unidentified piece of metal, behind which was a pipe of chemicals such as these," Spock commented, holding out his tricorder to reveal traces of arsenic, chlorine, and barium, "Let alone the fact that you had inhaled the water, and had an open wound in it."

McCoy stared angrily at the tricorder, embarrassed about the incident. He glanced back up at Spock, lowered the tricorder slowly to his side, his dark gaze boring into him. "Is this an order?"

"Yes," he replied plainly, "Having you continue along this planet's surface is not logical. I can continue on to locate the captain."

McCoy's gaze became concerned. "Spock, I just said that I couldn't return to the ship. Are you all right?"

Spock felt silent for a few moments, and McCoy slowly held up a hand to his shoulder.

Spock reacted as if awakened and pulled away from his grasp. "Once we are able to secure a signal once more, you will contact the Enterprise." He led the way through a circular doorway, which ended in a platform. McCoy glanced about and pointed at a panel jutting up from the floor. Spock moved toward it, and began to tinker with it, the panel and floor below them lighting up. Spock glanced up into the shaft, understanding the mechanism to be a lift.

McCoy shook his head at him. "If I'm disintegrated, be a dear and collect the mess, won't you?"

"Would you prefer if I place the pieces in a box?" Spock inquired.

McCoy snickered. "It'd better be a nice one."

XXXXXX

The throne room groaned and moaned in the silence. Sitting on one of the hollowed-out stone recesses, Kirk stared out at the indigo shading of the city's husks, with the double helix arcing into the air. He felt a sense of melancholy while staring at the structures, and tried, not for the first time, to imagine people moving among them.

"You accomplish nothing by coming here," Xavia said, "save for salvaging scrap metal, and old artifacts. I do not claim to understand this fetish with understanding old civilizations as egregiously as you do."

"It gives us a sense of continuity, understanding the past," Kirk explained, rising, "We don't live in a multi-verse knowingly, therefore a thread of a story is what we have to cling to."

"Even though the thread may be incomplete?" She questioned, "It seems to be same with each of you linear races. It is sad, in my opinion, that you are presented with such."

"It's what we are given," Kirk answered, "We can't change that, though there have been attempts to achieve immortality, throughout human history."

"What does it matter to you, if I die? I affect my world only. It won't have any impact on this universe, or, for that matter, any others. We are insignificant," she commented, her voice wistful.

"Because you are a sentient creature," Kirk explained, "All sentient creatures should be given the ability to live and thrive. You are no different."

"And I am doing that here," Xavia replied, "Though I see in what direction you are heading. You are worried for your comrades, are you not?"

"There isn't a reason for us to want to remain," Kirk said plainly, "If you refuse to meet our requests as guests of your world, and I will admit we came here without invitation, then we should leave."

"Then I have a request," Xavia commented, "Whether you choose to honor it is your decision, Captain. Consider your encounter with me here today and weigh your options in accordance. I wish for this planet to be a tomb, not only to the living, but to my people at large. I wish for it to be treated accordingly."

"You do understand what this means, do you not?" Kirk inquired, attempting to delay himself from having to make a decision, "If you do this, then your culture will be lost to us. Leaving that alone, while the Federation may abide by your request, others will not do so."

"Then you can make that a bargaining tool," Xavia replied, raising her head just slightly, the tone of her voice coy, "This is to be a territory where no one is to tread. Would you prefer if someone looked over your ship, as if it was nothing more than an object of study?"

"If was an object that the Federation had left to remember itself by, then yes, I would."

Xavia folded her legs. "But you are not ready for the ability to view the multi-verse. Your kind has not evolved that far. Our writings are based upon the ability to view such a thing."

"Such writings would give us a window into another way of thinking," Kirk pointed out, "but I've seen the inside of your library – they are either dust or worn illegible by time. We are not, as a governing body, seeking to assimilate all cultures." He held up a fist for emphasis, and then uncurled it. "We are seeking to understand other cultures and learn accordingly."

Xavia sighed, though without making a corresponding bodily movement. "I will have to give myself time to consider this."

Kirk nodded. "Should I leave our communications frequency for you?"

"I'll take it," Xavia replied. Reaching to the side, she tapped a panel built into the throne's arm. The blue glow lit the room in a ghostly manner. "Please present your input here."

Kirk bowed at the waist. He stepped forward to tap his tricorder against the panel, and feed in the relay. Xandira deactivated the panel, and Kirk stepped back.

"Do you wish to know your future in this universe, captain?" Xavia inquired, "You may not receive another chance to do so."

Kirk narrowed his eyes, knowing that she was playing with him. She could see as to whether he would have another chance but chose to remain obtuse about the situation. "I don't care what happens to me. If you can see into my history, as you claim to do so, you would know why."

Xavia paused, and then replied simply, "It was due to seeing the massacre on Tarsus IV, at your young age. Or perhaps it was due to your personality being what it is, not wanting to know the odds of a situation before jumping in. Where the past stops, and yourself begins is a question best left to those others than I." Kirk nodded, and Xavia continued, "Though, I sense that if I did wish tempt you, I would offer the ability for you to see into the fates of your friends. They do mean very much to you. I can see your past with each of them, on your ship, your smiles."

Kirk curled his lip, knowing that she had caught him. Xavia continued, "It is noble, I would say, that you care as much for your friends as you do, though I would also point to a trace of megalomania. Simply put, you don't like having your control wrested from you when it comes to those who you love and cherish. For that, I cannot blame you, either. We are possessive of our objects," she fingered the crested necklace at her collarbone, "and of our relationships with others."

"Don't," Kirk held up his hand.

Xavia's tone was gentle. "But it's what you want, isn't it? You want to know if Commander Spock and Lieutenant Commander McCoy will be safe, yes?"

Kirk shook his head, lowering his hand. "I don't have the right to interfere with their lives. Don't you think I have considered the fact that we will be eventually separated? I can't force them to stay where I can protect them."

"Then I have nothing to offer you," Xavia finalized. She turned her hollowed out face from him and stared out into the empty throne room. Kirk wondered if she was staring into the other universes and felt annoyed at being dismissed.

"Do you each want to remain on this quiet planet?" Kirk asked.

"We don't much care for this world – we have other, more prosperous worlds, to journey into with our visions. You don't have that luxury. Really, you have been nothing more than entertainment to me here, and that is well."

"If you are sure," he said carefully.

"And what will you do, Captain Kirk, stay here with me to keep me company? Have others hurled at me just to talk to me? Or perhaps establish diplomatic ties between the Federation and my world?" She sniffed at that. "The very notion is absurd. It is simply not worth the time for that to happen. Our notions of togetherness are different, you understand this."

"Then I was making an appropriate gesture in my own culture," Kirk explained, "I wanted to offer to you a gift of my own, and I apologize for it not being worth anything to you, either."

Xavia gave a laugh, her head sloping down, and causing her horns to face at an odd angle. "We mean nothing to each other, you and I, but I find no regret in our conversation." She reached over again to the panel at her side and typed in a command. "I thank you for the gift exchange but bid you a swift exit."

Kirk's communicator went off at that point, and he flipped it open. "Kirk, here."

"Spock, captain. I apologize for the delay – reconciling the separation has proved arduous. Doctor McCoy and I are the building's top-most floor. We are blocked behind two impenetrable doors."

Kirk couldn't help but give a small smile. He thought he could hear a trace of relief in his friend's voice. He turned to look at Xavia, who gave a nod. Reaching down, she pressed a button on the panel. The doors slowly creaked open, revealing Spock and McCoy, albeit waterlogged, behind them. McCoy was rubbing the back of his head, while Spock glanced about the room, as if finding his bearings once more. Spock spared Xavia a glance before turning to address his captain. "Forgive us for not appearing sooner."

"That's all right, we're almost finished up here," Kirk commented, turning his attention back to Xavia, "May I present to you, Your Majesty Xavia, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy?"

Xavia held up a hand in greeting, and Spock met it with the Vulcan salute. McCoy stopped to take in with dismay her lack of proper nutrition. "We were discussing you previously, gentlemen," Xavia commented, lowering her hand, "I must apologize for any difficulties you have suffered on your trip here. I have my own house rules that must be adhered to."

Spock, unfazed, nodded. "I understand."

McCoy, however, reached for his medical bag. Xavia, a trace of amusement in her voice, stopped him with a comment. "You need not worry for me, doctor – it is my own fault. I spend periods of dormancy in this chair with my visions and thoughts that I lack the ability to eat. I have my own stores." Her held out her arms to stretch horizontally with a sigh, the gesture oddly casual. "I will be eating from them soon."

"Not from that garden downstairs, I hope," McCoy replied in concern, "The chemicals down there have spilled, and the fruit is rotting."

"I haven't much concern for such things. I had servants who could tend to them for me," Xavia replied. Her voice took on a sharp note as she said, "And frankly, it isn't your concern, either. While you mean well, McCoy, any assistance given to me would ultimately become imperialistic – I don't wish to bring in those of the linear races to fix a problem of a pollutant – they would just as easily overturn me from my throne."

McCoy's hand fell, but he quipped in frustration, "If you wish to die from arsenic poisoning, then fine, be my guest."

Xavia gave a nod. "We understand each other."

Xavia turned back to Kirk. "Forgive me for my harsh wording, but you have outlived your welcome, for the time being. Though," she held out her hand to him, "I wish you safe travel."

Kirk bowed to Xavia, and turned to leave.

As she watched the men retreat, Xavia couldn't help but pity Kirk. Though the outcomes of this universe had already been determined, she had entertained the hope that perhaps she could turn it around for him and help him to avoid the fate that had been set for him by telling him. She wondered how her other selves could have handled an emotional connection like that, but decided not to think on it further – she was different here, in that she was tired, and often alone. Relaxing, she fell back into her dormancy, the palace around her quiet.

XXXXXX

It could have happened to anyone, McCoy told himself a few nights later as he checked his vital signs. Still, it felt no better to see them reflected on the computer's data.

The first two times, he hadn't been willing to accept it, ordering the computer in a harsh tone of voice to recalculate its findings. He'd tapped his fingers on his arm in annoyance at having to wait when the computer responded, "Working," and had felt half-compelled to put his foot through it when its findings were confirmed a second time.

It was xenopolycythemia, and although he felt fine now, he knew that it would be a steady downhill. It had to have been from the cut from before he had fallen into the stagnant water. He thought Spock lucky to have not suffered the same issue.

Spock didn't have it – he'd checked his vitals after returning from Xavia's planet, now termed Hel by Kirk. Though Spock had been closer to him after the mission, sleeping his arm about him, they hadn't been physically intimate. Whether it was out embarrassment for his behavior on Hel, McCoy didn't really care – he hadn't been able to transmit it to him through intercourse.

McCoy was quick to shield his sadness. He didn't wish Spock to hear it, not now, and not until he could think of some way to tell him. He didn't know how long that would take, but now he had a time limit of one year at the maximum. The limit was to not account for how quickly his health could decrease, being past his physical prime. For as much as he wished to talk to someone, anyone, he had to face it alone. He wondered if, in those other realities Xavia saw, whether things had been different. Perhaps Spock had grabbed his arm in time, or, on a darker note, perhaps it was Spock who had cut himself and then fallen. It didn't matter anymore. Men like McCoy didn't have happy endings, anyway.

McCoy rose from his chair and called out for the lights to dim before leaving the room.

He didn't want to think of the future, Spock, his friends, his family, or anything. He just wanted to go to sleep for tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: Zh'oqilness, Planet Hel, Xavia, and her race are my creation. I need to stop writing stories of the TOS crew journeying onto dead or dying planets. The changelings from DS9 were my inspiration for Xavia and her people. The city's design was influenced by Zanarkand from Final Fantasy X. The hands holding a book in front of the library was influenced by the hand holding the Tome of Darkness in Eternal Darkness: Sanity's Requiem.


End file.
